


Psychological Warfare

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 02:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12807621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Marcus makes it sohardto follow the plan





	Psychological Warfare

Jared’s always been good at sticking to plans. He’d have to be, considering the kind of routine hockey’s drilled into him since he was a kid. Waking up at five for early practice on a Sunday morning, dad driving him, bleary eyed, while his mom and sister slept in until after they got back with Timmies. Running the same drills over and over until it went from boring to instinct. Grimacing around over-salted egg whites and multi-grain toast and washing them down with a protein shake that left a chalky taste in his mouth while his sister smugly dug into chocolate chip waffles beside him. 

Demurring at things offered: greasy, delicious food, beer slopping over the edge of plastic cups — well, after a couple at least — a pipe heavy with acrid smoke that had to feel better than it smelled. Squinting between street lamps at his math homework on the way to practices, from games, because there was no other time to get it done if he wanted to get a full eight hours of sleep in, especially once he joined the Hitmen and started spending long stretches of time on the team bus; the short jaunts to Edmonton, Red Deer, Lethbridge, the jaw cracking monotony to Prince Albert or Prince George, the all-day event it became, getting to Brandon. 

Jared knows plans. Jared’s life follows plans: the practice schedule, the nutrition plan, the minimum grade required to stay on the team — though that’s never been a problem, and he coasts with straight Bs, teachers sighing at him and saying he could manage As if he tried. And he’s sure he could, if he put in the effort, but all the effort he has in him goes to hockey.

He’s never regretted it. And he’s always, always followed the plan.

This plan is not working. And Jared knows two ways to deal with plans that don’t work: tweak it until it’s doable, or scrap it and replace it with something more reasonable. He also knows exactly which of those options makes more sense. Raf was right, it’s a bad plan, and it isn’t going to work, because Jared controls a lot of things in his life, controls them well, but he’s never quite managed to control his own mouth. He should scrap it, and try to keep his distance from Marcus — as difficult as that might be, considering Marcus keeps hovering over him — for the rest of camp. 

After camp will be individual summer training, training camp. Preseason and school, regular season with the thrumming under his skin, knowing that scouts are watching, evaluating, that where he’s drafted — and he _will_ be drafted, he can’t think about an alternative, and anyway they figure him for the fourth round, worst case, and seven rounds total leaves a hell of a buffer as long as he doesn’t get injured — depends entirely on how he plays this season, the way he knows most other twelfth graders will be buckling down to get into the college or university they want.

He’s got a lot to focus on. He’s got plans — _actual_ plans, reasonable plans — and goals, and at the end of this camp he’ll probably never see Marcus again except maybe across the ice, or, if his dream somehow comes true, in the Flames locker room, and he’ll cross that bridge if he comes to it. He’s got better things to do than try to fuck with Marcus, or get under his skin or _whatever_ it is he’s trying to do, whatever is driving him to this stupid, ridiculous, infantile idea. Jared’s been told, over and over, that he’s mature for his age. Obviously Marcus isn’t mature for _his_ , wouldn’t even be considered mature if he was the same age as Jared, but that’s no reason for Jared to descend to his level.

Because he’s not going to lie to himself here: even if the plan has him actually like the bigger man or whatever, it’s basically the opposite. He doesn’t _want_ to be Marcus’ friend, doesn’t want Marcus anywhere near him, and acting like he does isn’t just to be civil, to try to keep things on an even keel until camp’s over, when Marcus won’t be anything to him except an obnoxious shadow he had to deal with for a month. He wants it to bug Marcus. He wants it to get under his skin the same way Marcus so effortlessly gets under Jared’s.

He doesn’t know why he keeps thinking about this, brain circling it, like he’s looking for something that disappeared, or was never there in the first place. He doesn’t obsess. Ever. Except about hockey, but of course he’s obsessed with hockey. He _lives_ hockey. Marcus is hockey adjacent, maybe, but that’s no reason for Jared to get fixated, which he is.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

*

Jared’s early for camp again. He sits on the bench outside, lazily kicking a rock from foot to foot. He was pretty good at soccer as a kid, pretty good at all the sports he tried out, on some kind of team for every season of the year, but they never resonated with him the same way as hockey did, and by the time he was eleven he quit everything else, had eyes on one thing and one thing only.

Still does, and he flicks through Puck Daddy, though there’s not much happening. Offseason’s a drag. It’s like he’s holding his breath from June to October.

“Morning,” he hears, and looks up from some free-agency rumours to see Marcus standing over him, hands in the pockets of his shorts. They’re an obnoxiously pink pastel. Salmon coloured, Jared thinks. His collar is actually popped. You’d think with all the cracks about dudes who pop their collars, they’d maybe stop, but nope. But Marcus is the cliche of a bro, so he probably takes the jokes as compliments, if he’s even self-aware enough to associate them with himself. Jared has his doubts.

“Hi,” Jared says, slow. Plan, Jared. Stick to the stupid damn plan. You are not a quitter.

“Hot today,” Marcus says inanely.

“Yep,” Jared says. He should say something else. Monosyllables are not friendly. “Supposed to be even hotter tomorrow.”

Jared has been reduced to talking about the weather. This is a shameful low. 

Marcus looks like he’s about to say something else — maybe that it’ll cool off in a few days, a riveting addition — when Raf, noble, wonderful Raf, saves Jared from small-talk by walking over, foot nudging Jared’s sneaker. Jared didn’t even notice the bus pulling in, which is weird because he was waiting outside for Raf in the first place.

“Rafael,” Marcus says, mouth thinning a little. Of all the people to dislike, Raf has got to be the most irrational.

“Hi,” Raf says. “What’re you talking about?”

“The weather,” Jared says, and more sarcasm than he intended sneaks through.

“Hot,” Raf says.

“Yep,” Jared says. 

This is hell. Hot and boring and full of dudes with popped collars and massive egos. Except not, because Raf wouldn’t be in hell. He’s like the angel coming to pull him out or something. Jared’s even pretty sure there’s an angel named Rafael. He’s fated to save Jared from this. 

Jared sends Raf a pleading look, hoping that Raf will figure out how to untangle them from this circular weather conversation and get them inside, where it is cool and quiet and will be temporarily Marcus free as they change into their gear.

“Great weather for driving, though,” Marcus says. “I mean, if you’ve got a convertible.”

Oh good, now they’re talking about cars. 

“I do not,” Jared says. Because he is not _ridiculous_ , and that’s what a seventeen year old with a convertible would be. Though a twenty year old with one is pretty damn ridiculous too.

“Man, it’s like a whole thing,” Marcus says. Jared does not know what that means. Jared does not want to know what that means. “Like, you’ve never really driven until you drive with the top down.”

“Uh huh,” Jared says. He wonders, idly, if he’d run out of numbers if he tried to count how many times Marcus uses ‘like’ in a conversation.

“It’s like the best money I’ve ever spent,” Marcus continues, and Jared bites his lip. Hard. Pretends not to notice Raf glancing over at him, probably waiting for him to fail at holding his tongue. Which he isn’t going to, because he has a plan, and if he says something it’s not going to be according to the plan, and Jared is strong.

“They listed it for like, seventy grand, but I got it for—” Marcus says, completely oblivious to Jared’s inner struggle. Seventy _grand_. For a _car_. 

Marcus makes it so _hard_ to follow the plan.

“Oh my god,” Jared explodes. “Dude, no one gives a shit how much you paid for that eyesore, except maybe your parents, and only because it’s proof their son is an idiot who blows a stupid amount of money on a car that he can’t even _drive_ most of the year.”

Raf sighs very quietly. 

“It’s not an eyesore,” Marcus says.

Jared stares at him. “ _That’s_ what you got from what I was saying?”

“And my dad’s dead,” Marcus snaps, then stalks inside.

“Um,” Raf says.

“Well,” Jared says. “Now I feel shitty.”

“You didn’t know,” Raf says, but that’s not even true, because Jared _definitely_ saw it mentioned before in some of the articles he read about Marcus, searching for ammo. Obviously that wasn’t something he’d ever use for ammo, because he’s not an asshole.

He feels kind of like an asshole right now, and even more annoyed with Marcus for making him feel like that.

“So uh,” Raf says. “You still doing the plan?”

Jared sighs. “Yes?” he says. “Kind of?”

Raf doesn’t say anything.

“I’m aware at how bad I’m doing,” Jared says.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Raf says, either nice enough that he genuinely wasn’t, or at least nice enough to lie.

“Let’s go inside,” Jared says. “It’s too hot.”

*

It’s way hotter when they leave that afternoon, which makes sense, time of day and all. Sweltering, even.

God, why is Jared still thinking about the weather? This is _absurd_.

Marcus has kept his distance from him and Raf all day, and Jared feels uncomfortable about it. Like, because it’s abnormal, but also because if the reason is his dad then Jared’s going to have to keep feeling shitty about himself, and he doesn’t want to. He’s weird that way.

So it’s almost a relief when Marcus calls his name. Almost, because he follows up his, “Yo, Matheson,” with a, “Wait up.”, and then starts _jogging toward him_.

Jared has the sudden instinct to run. He bravely suppresses it.

“Is this the part where he kills me?” Jared whispers to Raf. 

“Maybe,” Raf says. “But probably not.”

“Will you protect me?” Jared asks.

Raf is worryingly silent, but Jard can’t press him on it because Marcus has caught up with them.

“I’ll take you for a ride if you want,” Marcus says, which is — what?

“Uh,” Jared says. “What?”

“In my car,” Marcus says.

He’s still not making sense. 

“You’re still not making sense,” Jared says.

“Like, you can’t appreciate how awesome it is if you’ve never tried it,” Marcus says. “So if you wanna—”

“Want to _what_?” Jared asks.

“Come for a ride,” Marcus says.

“Seriously?” Jared asks.

“Seriously,” Marcus says. “I bet it’d take like, two minutes for you to see how different it is.”

“I don’t do bets,” Jared says. 

“Bet was just like, a word,” Marcus says.

“Bet was just like a word,” Jared repeats incredulously. “You mean a figure of speech? An expression?”

“Sure, whatever,” Marcus says.

“Yeah, I’m going to have to pass,” Jared says. What if he’s planning on driving him to a secluded place where he can drop off Jared’s body? What if he’s planning on making him get out and then running him _over_? Jared is pretty sure it’s common sense not to get in cars with strange men, and Marcus definitely qualifies. 

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Marcus says.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Jared says. “Which is also a figure of speech, by the way.”

“Obviously,” Marcus mutters. “Anyway, you want to go for a ride, just ask.”

“I literally just said no!” Jared calls after his departing back, because of course Marcus had to end that all dramatically by walking away.

“Um,” Raf says, kind of wide-eyed, from where he’s standing three feet away.

“What?” Jared asks, more snappish than he means to.

“You’re blushing,” Raf says.

“I’m not blushing,” Jared says, hands coming up instinctively to his cheeks. They’re hot, but whatever, it’s crazy hot outside. Of course they’re hot.

“Okay,” Raf says agreeably. “But Marcus was.”

“He was?” Jared blurts out before he can help himself, then, “Obviously he wasn’t. You’re imagining things.”

“You’re still blushing,” Raf says, kind of fascinated sounding. 

“You have a really, really active imagination,” Jared says. It’s the heat. Maybe it’s getting to him.

“My mom always said that,” Raf says, in a voice like he’s humouring Jared, which Jared resents, then, “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to, um. Take a ride?”

“Raf!” Jared yelps. It sounds fucking _dirty_ , the way he says it. 

“It’s a nice car,” Raf says.

“It’s a stupid car,” Jared says. “Stupid and flashy and useless.”

He thought they were agreed on that, but apparently Raf’s a turncoat.

“Anyway, he wasn’t actually asking,” Jared says. “He was just showing off his stupid car.”

“I’m uh,” Raf says. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t offer three times if he was just showing off.”

“It’s psychological warfare,” Jared says. “He was trying to get me to cave, just so he could laugh and take it back.”

Jared knows how bullies work. He’s never dealt with them too much, but it’s hard not to notice the dumb brute force tactics they employ. 

Raf gives him a look. “Bryce Marcus offered to give you a ride as an attempt to commit psychological warfare against you,” he says.

Well, it sounds stupid when Raf says it like that.

“Yes,” Jared says. He’s standing by it, though yeah, Raf’s probably right. Marcus probably can’t even _spell_ psychological.

“He didn’t just invite you because he wanted to,” Raf says.

“Obviously not,” Jared says. Why _would_ he? Jared’s not delusional, he knows exactly how big a dick he’s been to Marcus.

“Maybe because—” Raf starts, interrupted by a screech of tires as Marcus peels out of the parking lot way too fast in his stupid, ridiculous, _stupid_ car.

“I hope you get a ticket,” Jared yells, then says, to Raf, “Stop looking at me.”

“I’m not looking at you,” Raf protests.

“I can feel your judgmental eyes,” Jared says.

“I’m not being judgmental,” Raf says. “I just think—”

Jared looks over at him. He’s looking back at Jared. Jared told him to stop that.

“Do you…want to go for a ride?” Raf says.

“Stop saying it like that,” Jared says. 

“Like what?” Raf asks.

“Like—” Jared says. “Anyway, obviously I don’t, so.”

“Okay,” Raf says.

“Okay,” Jared says. He needs to go home and scream into his pillow now. “I need to go home and scream in my pillow now.”

“Because you—” Raf starts.

“No!” Jared says.

“Okay,” Raf says. “Have fun?”

“I will not,” Jared says. “We are never speaking of this again, by the way.”

“I mean, you won’t let me say—” Raf says.

“Exactly,” Jared says. 

“So it’s not really like we’ve even talked—” Raf says.

“Exactly,” Jared repeats.

“Okay,” Raf says. “If you change your mind—”

“Not gonna happen,” Jared says.


End file.
